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3

    The sound of the cock crow filtered into Rica’s chamber along with the first, faint light of day. A drizzling mist fell from low clouds. Rica shivered a little as she unshuttered the embrasure and pulled her wrap more closely about her.
    On the river, a barge passed slowly on the current, and peasants from a village to the north walked already toward the city, a wagon loaded with wool behind them. Rica wished she were among them, walking toward the bustle of the market, toward the noise and color and bargaining. From her narrow window, she could sec Strassburg, obscured somewhat by the mist. It looked like a fairy kingdom, soon to disappear.
    It was her conscience she wished to submerge in that noise and confusion, in the pleasure of baubles and fine fabrics. That same conscience had awakened her long before cockcrow.
    As if to bring the point to bear, the sound of the bells for Prime rang softly in the air. She sighed and pressed her forehead to cool stone.
    Today she must make her confession. Although it had been several days since the disturbing encounter with Helga’s student, she had not yet solved how best to accomplish her ablution.
    It was not only the afternoon in Helga’s yard that concerned her, for that had happened quickly and she had carried herself quickly away from temptation. Even the old priest would laud her effort. There was, she thought wryly, no sin in the act of being tempted, only indulging.
    Or was there? Thoughts were sins—she had confessed and been absolved of many evil thoughts.
    Moving from the window, Rica began to pace. She had deliberately taken herself to Helga’s in hopes of seeing the beautiful young man again, even knowing he would never be her husband. Was there sin in that action? Was there sin in looking upon a beautiful person? God had created all beauty, even that of men. Would not admiring the perfection of a man be giving glory to the Lord, much as admiring the perfection of the sky?
    Here she let go of a snort. There was the small matter of the difference in her thoughts as she admired the sky and as she admired the man. They somehow kindled quite different visions.
    So how to confess it? She pursed her lips and settled the matter, knowing even as she did so that there was a certain duplicity involved. It could not be helped. Priest he was, and as such sworn to keep her private thoughts private, but if she were in danger or he perceived her to be so, she had no doubt he would alert her father.
    And Rica would find herself married in a trice.
    It was not that she did not wish to marry. She simply did not wish to do so yet . Marriage would mean leaving her father and her sister, would mean leaving all she knew and found dear. Forever.
    Restlessly she leaned on the embrasure, looking down toward newly planted fields and the vineyards sloping down a hill. Everything was covered with a faint greenish gray mist.
    Every night since the afternoon at Helga’s, Rica had found her thoughts upon Solomon. Each night as she closed her eyes to sleep, she remembered the brush of his hair upon her cheek and the hot black eyes and the wide, apple-red mouth. His rich laughter hung with ghostly insistence in her ear.
    The first night, she had pushed away the ribbons of memory. But no matter how she guarded the gates of her mind, persistent visions of him slipped through. Finally she had yielded to the pleasure they gave, the warm tingling they spread through her, night after night. It seemed a small sin.
    Why did this man stick so ferociously in her thoughts? There were many men who flirted with her, men of great virility who had made plain they would take her gladly to wife for the pleasure of bedding her.
    She had never given a moment’s thought to any of them. None of them had spoken to her as Solomon did, as if she were a creature of reason with thoughts in her own right. No man had ever expressed curiosity over her musings.
    He spoke with her as if she were his equal.
    Even the thought